


Training Wreck

by LoveThemFiercely



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Animal Injury (Accidental), But Not By A Human, Chocolate, Concussions, Dog BB-8, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Anxiety, Gingerpilot, Hospitals, Hux is a lawyer, I Made Sucky Stuff Into Fluff, M/M, Mitaka Hasn't Grown Into His Bedside Manner Yet, Mitaka is a Nurse, Pets, Pilots, The Pilots Are Pilots, This Is For Flypaper-Brain and the Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Week, Those Two Don't Mix, Veterinary Clinic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 15:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveThemFiercely/pseuds/LoveThemFiercely
Summary: A crappy week gets worse before it gets better (technically a crappy day?).   Disasters come in threes, don't they?  First it's the cat.  Then it's the pilot.  And finally the dog.  There's a reason Armitage Hux avoided caring about anything, even after he decided to be a better man.  Until he did.  First it was the cat.  Then the pilot.  And finally, the dog.





	Training Wreck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flypaper_brain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flypaper_brain/gifts).



> So my very good friend @flypaper-brain had a spectacularly crappy week in which things very much like this happened. And there unfortunately wasn't a lot I could do about it. This, though, I could do. Turning a crappy week into fluff with Nurse Mitaka and Good Choices!Hux. Thanks to @leoba for looking through it for me.

It had been a spectacularly shitty start to the week.  All Hux wanted was some chocolate (the good stuff, bitter and sweet, almost like coffee) and a suitably oversized glass of red wine.  Millicent had broken a tooth on the zipper of Poe’s flight jacket. She wasn’t supposed to chew on the jacket in the first place, but she was a _cat_ , for pity’s sake.  You didn’t _train_ a cat, you accepted their idiosyncrasies and changed things to work around them.

 

“Hux, _querido_ , that means the cat is training you,” Poe said.  He sounded remarkably patient for someone who just might be right.  Why couldn’t he just be smug, like anyone else would be under the same circumstances?  Sometimes you just wanted a good, savage argument. Admittedly Poe had other very fine qualities.  Hux was blushing just thinking about some of them. Not just those. Poe was short on impulse control and had an enormous disdain for rules, but he was generous and kind and loving, things that still surprised Hux most days when aimed in his direction.

 

He’d also driven them to the vet and held Hux’s hand while he had himself a nice full-blown panic attack.  Millicent wasn’t as young as she used to be, and anesthesia wasn’t kind to cats; but she’d broken off one of her canine teeth, and there was no other option.  She just seemed to love the way Poe’s jacket smelled. Hux could relate. He wouldn’t have minded curling up with that jacket himself just now. Or, you know, the occupant.  Unfortunately he, and most likely the jacket with him, were elsewhere at the moment.

 

Poe had sounded contrite, which he had no reason to be.  “I’m sorry, _querido_.  Maybe I should just take the zipper off and let her have it.  I can get another one. Hey, breathe. It’s okay. She’ll be fine, back to savaging my clothes in no time.”  And she had been, sans one canine tooth. She was sleeping it off in her bed now, and Poe had headed in to work.  Hux had worried he’d be in trouble for being so late; but Poe had just waved a hand and said it wouldn’t be a problem, he was irreplaceable.  Maybe he was. He was definitely their best pilot, especially if you asked him, and the air shows wouldn’t be nearly as breathtaking without him.  

 

Poe’s dog was irritatingly obedient, if extremely vocal.  BB-8 and Poe had placed in agility competitions together. Hux hadn’t even known what those were until they started dating, but the Aussie was fanatical about the sport, winding and weaving through tunnels and climbing ladders.  Who knew dogs could climb ladders? When he ran across those weird bridges he went so fast you couldn’t even tell he had legs. He responded to commands as though he spoke perfect English. And Spanish, for that matter. His only flaw seemed to be that he was terribly greedy.  Poe said they’d started the agility training to keep BB-8 from ending up so overweight he’d be spherical.

 

They’d had to lock the pantry and keep all the food out of reach (harder than it sounded, since Poe had basically created a dog who could climb any surface in the house).  Fortunately, even _that_ scary-smart dog hadn’t figured out how to pick a lock.  Yet. Hux wouldn’t put anything past him. He grudgingly admitted to himself that BB-8 had grown on him, perhaps not unlike a fungus.  No, that wasn’t nice. He was trying to be a better person these days. Hux did like watching the two of them greet each other when Poe got home for the day, all scratches and pats, face-washing and joyous energy.  They’d go tussle with a piece of rope or practice on the course Poe had set up in the backyard while Hux made dinner; unless it was one of Poe’s nights to cook, which were both fantastically messy and astoundingly delicious.  

 

Just thinking about the _hilachas_ and _rellenitos_ they’d had last week was making his mouth water right now.  And watching Poe cheerfully wreck the kitchen was almost as appetizing as the results.  Cleanup was not nearly as fun, though it wasn’t so bad once Poe rolled up his sleeves and got to work alongside him.  He’d been singing folk songs while he worked, like he almost always did. Sometimes Hux was even brave enough to join him.  He preferred classical music, generally, but there was just something about singing with someone you loved, even if wasn’t a skill Hux was likely to ever use in public.

 

Tonight would be his turn.  Shepherd’s pie was already prepped, just waiting to be popped into the oven when Poe called him to say he was on his way home.  He knew he wasn’t much of a cook, really, not the flashy, legendary kind of food that had their friends begging for one of Poe’s creations once they’d tried them.  Hux was mostly a workhorse when it came to the kitchen; but he could damn well make this, and he was good at it. Generations of family would have disowned him from beyond the grave if he couldn’t turn out a decent shepherd’s pie.  He flattered himself it was more than decent.

 

Poe was still stuck at work, though, it would seem.  Not that he would consider it “stuck”; he loved flying and everything that went along with it.  It had been a relatively slow day for a public defender, so Hux had come home earlier than he expected. This new job certainly wasn’t as lucrative as corporate law, but it was part of the changes he’d been making, and more rewarding than he’d expected it to be.

 

The house was more or less in order (as much as it could be with a hairy orange-and-white furball rocketing around the place and a pilot who was careless with anything that didn’t fly).  Hux indulged himself in some Mozart, unwrapped some of his dark chocolate stash, and uncorked the wine to let it breathe (on a shelf so high, Poe wouldn’t be able to reach it either). Oh, that was very nice indeed.  

 

He’d meant to take his time, but that was _really_ good chocolate and the bar was disappearing, square by square.  Hux was delighted when his phone buzzed; good, they’d be eating dinner soon enough.  Maybe he’d even share the rest of the chocolate. “All wrapped up for the day, flyboy?”  Maybe they’d share the bottle of wine, too, and have a second dessert later.

 

“Mr. Hux?”  The voice wasn’t familiar.  Why was someone else using Poe’s phone?  

 

“Yes?  Who is this?”  Had Poe left his phone somewhere?  Had someone picked up the phone and called the last contact so they could return it?  It would be like Poe not to bother locking it. Hux hoped there wasn’t anything too personal on there.

 

“Mr. Hux, my name is Dopheld Mitaka, at County Hospital.  You’re listed in Mr. Dameron’s phone as his ICE contact, next of kin, responsible party, well, everything, really.  He…” His stomach twisted. _Next of kin._  Why was...how could he be?  They weren’t married. Not yet.  There was a buzzing noise. Was the phone vibrating again, like another call?  No, the first call was still active, the little phone sign was green. Then why was the phone shaking?  Hux realized he’d lowered the cell phone, away from his ear. There were noises coming from it, like someone was still talking, and the display was blurry, like it was underwater.  He put the phone back to his ear. It was still shaking. “Mr. Hux? Are you still there? Sir, he...”

 

Hux spoke, interrupting the voice.   “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He thumbed the red phone shape and the talking stopped.  Keys. Shoes. A coat, any coat would do. He hadn’t poured the wine yet. That was just as well.  Wallet? Wait. He took a detour by his desk and grabbed the POA Poe had given him to sign after things had gotten serious between them.  The airfield liked there to be someone responsible, legally speaking, and Kes Dameron lived on the other side of the country; he’d thought it was a good idea too, because he worried about Poe and he was glad to know that somebody was looking out for him closer to home.  

 

He knew where the hospital was.  Sometimes being a lawyer involved visiting prisons, sometimes hospitals; you never knew where you’d end up.  That was a good thing just now, because he couldn’t remember for the life of him how the GPS worked. Normally Hux was a careful driver.  Poe teased him about it sometimes, he was a pilot, of course he lived for speed. Hux just told him if he were going to end up in a courtroom, he wanted it to be business, not personal, which made him laugh.  Today was not a careful day.

 

Hux hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about the less pleasant possibilities of Poe’s job, but his mind treated him to all of them in their full cinematic glory during the drive, flaming wrecks, mechanical failures, mid-air collisions and all.  He was in the hospital parking lot, frowning as he tried to remember the streets in between. Never mind. That just meant he could park and head for the door. The emergency room receptionist handed him a clipboard. “Sir, if you can have a seat and complete these forms, we’ll make sure you’re seen as soon as possible.”  Her face was concerned. Somebody in this room was breathing very fast. They should calm down.

 

Hux stared at her.  “No...I’m not here for me.  They called me. I’m here…” He should at least tell them his name.  “I’m Armitage Hux.”

 

“ _Puchica!_ ”  His head snapped around at the sound.  “Of course I have a _clavo_ , I need to get out of this place.” The owner of the familiar, beloved voice was alarmed, annoyed, and very much alive.   Hux slapped the POA on the counter and started walking, ignoring any further noises from reception, faster as he got closer to the sound.  Someone else said his name from a chair in the waiting area; he ignored that too. There was Poe, sitting up in bed, fully dressed and arguing with a very exasperated looking nurse.

 

“Mr. Dameron, we need to wait until there’s somebody here who can take you home; no, Mr. Wexley can’t sign you out of here, he’s not family.  Yes, I understand he brought you here, the rules are a little different for leaving. Sir, you…” Both heads turned as Hux walked into the room.

 

“There you are!   _Mi corazon_ , can you tell him I need to not be here and you can take me home?” This was accompanied by his most persuasive smile.  Somebody in this room was breathing fast too. Poe tilted his head, now looking puzzled.

 

“You must be Mr. Hux.”  The nurse smiled at him, then frowned.  “Oh, dear. You didn’t let me finish or I’d have told you he was fine.”  The man was taking him by the arm, one hand fussing at his wrist. “Mr. Hux?  Unlock your knees. Breathe. Here,” he pulled a chair over next to the hospital bed, “sit down, please.”  He sat, bracing himself on the bed in front of him, fingers curled into the sheet.

 

The lights in here were unpleasantly bright, and one of them was buzzing. Something tugged at his hand.  “ _Querido?_ Armitage.  Hey.” Hux was almost immediately standing again, pulled into the circle of Poe’s arms.  The breathing sounds got slower. Poe was glaring at the nurse, Hux could tell from his tone.  “What the hell did you tell him?” He turned back to Hux, holding him at arm’s length until they locked eyes. His were the same color as the chocolate Hux had unwrapped at home, sweet without its bitterness.

 

Poe had taken Hux’s head in his hands, thumbs stroking across his cheeks. His hands were wet.  The smile was gentle this time, and a little pained. “Hey, it’s nothing. I banged my head. I wasn’t even flying today.  It was just stupid, I’m sorry. Would you believe I was helping somebody else with the flight simulator, you know, for training, and I hit my head on the frame?”  That made sense.

 

He’d told Hux he always felt safe in the air.  It was on the ground that Poe was constantly tripping over things.  Usually things he’d left out himself. “We can go home,” Poe asserted.  He looked at the nurse. That had been the voice on the phone. What was his name again?  “Right? I can leave?” He sounded unhappy. Of course. Poe hated hospitals. They reminded him of his mother, and not the good memories.

 

Hux cleared his throat.  “I’m not family, but I’ve got his medical POA.  It’s…” Right. “It’s on the counter at the reception desk.  Can I...is it okay if I take him with me?” He sounded strange to himself, as though someone else were speaking.  “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name. Poe is not fond of hospitals.” That was more like he should sound. At least he hoped so.

 

The nurse nodded.  “Dopheld Mitaka. Of course you can.  I’m so sorry, I should have led with the good news, that he was okay.”  He flushed, clearly embarrassed. “I’m still learning. I don’t usually make those calls, not yet, but Mr. Dameron here was quite insistent we call you and he’s not allowed to use his phone.”  He was very young, now that Hux got a proper look at him. “Oh! I need to give you some information.” The exasperated face was back, but Hux thought the young man was directing it at himself this time.  

 

He shook his head.  “Let me try this again.  Mr. Dameron here has a concussion; not a terribly bad one, all things considered.  Yes, he can go home, but he should rest, stay away from screens and too much reading in general for a while, and absolutely no flying planes until he’s seen his own doctor and been cleared.  You understand. You’re a pilot too?” Why on earth would he think that? Hux looked down at himself. He could see why that would be misleading. He was wearing Poe’s flight jacket, which did not fit him, and which he had completely failed to notice.

 

There were a ton of aeronautics-related patches on this thing.  “No, I’m...never mind. I’m not a pilot. But no, probably not a good idea to go flying a plane until he’s had his head examined again, got it.”   Hux took the jacket off and handed it to Poe. “You forgot this.”

 

Wading his way through the hospital paperwork with the receptionist (who was still miffed at having been ignored) was not fun.  Poe was colossally irritated at the wheelchair, but Dopheld refused to budge on that point, wheeling him out to the waiting area. Hux could hear Poe apologizing behind him.  Good. He should, he hadn’t been very nice to the poor nurse. “I just…”

 

“Don’t like hospitals.  Yes, I am no longer in any doubt about that whatsoever.  It’s okay, Mr. Dameron. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you hope you don’t have to return just as much as I do.”  Hux turned around to stare at them both; Dopheld had a surprisingly wicked grin. There was a beat before Hux heard Poe laugh.  The nurse put a hand on Hux’s shoulder on his way back out of the waiting area. “Seriously, though, put him in bed when you get home and don’t let him do anything much for a few days, at least.  Which I’m sure will be loads of fun.” He shot Poe an amused look, chuckled, and waved, shaking his head as he left.

 

“Ouch, he’s got you there, you _are_ a huge pain.”  This from the big, bearded man slouched in one of the chairs.

 

He introduced himself as Snap Wexley.   Hux knew the name from Poe’s stories about work, but they’d never met in person.  The two of them seemed to be good friends, from what he could hear with half an ear while signing papers.  “Only when nobody listens to me, _cerote_.  It’s just a bump on the head, seriously, man, I’ve had worse.”  This sounded like the continuation of an earlier conversation. “You didn’t need to bring me here.”  He was fidgeting with the wheelchair, rolling it back and forth where he sat next to his friend.

 

“Dude, I brought you here because it took me three tries to get you to answer a question, and when you did it was in Spanish.”  Snap was a friendly-looking fellow with a flight jacket of his own.

 

“Cursing in English is unsatisfying.  I _told_ you to give me a minute and I’d be fine, I just needed to think for a second.”  Poe’s tone was somewhere between aggravation and affection.

 

“Is that what you said?  I wouldn’t know, because _I don’t speak Spanish_.  Which is what you were doing, even after we asked you to try English.  Which is why I drove you here, well, that and you ran into the door on the way out of the room.”  Snap looked over at Hux, eyes full of laughter. “Good luck with this one.”

 

Finally finished and now the proud owner of a post-concussion care flyer, Hux joined them.  “I’ll probably need it.” He held out a hand. “Thank you. Really.”

 

Snap shook it, grinning.  “Anytime. I gotta get home, or my wife is gonna be here looking for me next.  Shit. I left my phone. Jess is gonna skin me. Wait.” He eyed the reception desk.  “I can use theirs. Nice to meet you,” he tossed over his shoulder in Hux’s general direction as he ambled over to the desk, “and try not to do anything stupid.”  That was for Poe.

 

“Don’t do anything you would do.  Yes, sir.” Poe saluted. Snap flipped him a double bird, too quickly for anyone else in the room to notice (Hux hoped) and picked up the phone.

 

Poe didn’t protest being wheeled all the way to the car, which was not like him at all.  Hux settled him into the passenger seat, walked the chair back to the ER entrance, and slid in behind the wheel.  A few minutes later he found himself bent forward, arms and head pressed against the steering wheel, car still unstarted.

 

“...Hux?”  Poe sounded strained.  A glance into the passenger seat was enough to see that he looked it, too, wan and pinched.  Right. This wasn’t about him. Hux reached over to click Poe’s seatbelt into place, then past across his hips to recline the seat back.  He felt a kiss pressed into his hair as he leaned over, which nearly undid him again before he fastened his own belt and found his keys. This.  This was why he’d spent so long not letting anyone or anything into his life. Because the thought of something happening to them had him in pieces.

 

It took him a few tries to get the key in the ignition, but Poe didn’t seem to have noticed.  Good. Hux was the one that was supposed to be taking care of things. “We’ll be home in no time, just rest your eyes and I’ll wake you long enough to get in bed once we’re there, okay?”  Poe nodded, some of the tension easing from his face as his eyes closed. “I’m glad you’re all right.” He dropped a kiss on Poe’s cheek in return and drove them both home.

 

Poe was snoring by the time they got there.  “Poe? Hey, flyboy, you have to wake up so you can sleep in your bed.”  He went around to the passenger side of the car.

 

There was an uncooperative-sounding groan.  “ _Un cachito_ _más_ , I don’t have to get up yet, do I?   _Buena onda_ , ten more minutes, then.”  Uh-huh. Hux opened the car door, leaned in, and planted a soft kiss on his mouth.  Poe’s eyes slowly opened. “I changed my mind. I could be awake.” His grin was sleepy and extremely enticing.

 

“Good, then you can go inside while you are and get in bed.  Come on, up you get.” Hux pulled Poe up and out of the car, one hand over his head so he wouldn’t smack it on a second metal frame in a single day.  

 

“Bed is also good.  Will you be in it?” His hands running along Hux’s waist, under his shirt (how had he managed that?) were almost enough to make him forget what they were supposed to be doing.  Good grief.

 

“Eventually, after you’re asleep, flyboy.”  Hux was grinning in spite of himself, and suspected he was also blushing.  “You’re ridiculous.” He turned Poe around and gave his shoulders a gentle push toward the front door.  “Inside. Go.”

 

He went, but not without a bold glance over his shoulder.  “You love it.” Poe was not wrong. He stopped at the door, though, and leaned against one of the columns that held up the porch.  

 

Hux frowned.  “Are you all right?  Stupid question. Never mind.”  He fumbled with his keys, unlocked the door, and took an elbow to help.  Ten minutes later, Poe was stripped to his boxers (he was a fan of this plan), in bed alone (he was not a fan of that part), and snoring again, a bottle of water waiting on the nightstand in the darkened bedroom.

 

Dinner would have to wait until tomorrow’s lunch.  Hux headed for the kitchen to make himself a sandwich and froze.  There was a wrapper in the middle of the floor that hadn’t been there when he left.  He picked up the wrapper and smoothed it out to read the writing, and his heart sank.  He’d left the chocolate out where BB-8 could get it. “Shit!”

 

Hux’s eyes searched for the remaining squares he knew he wasn’t going to find, and lit on the dog in question, lying on the Turkish rug Hux had brought from his old apartment.  One guileless amber eye and one guilty-looking blue eye were fixed on his face. “Bloody hell!” There was a strange gulping, honking sort of noise, and BB-8 leaned his head over and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the rug.  “FUCK.”

 

The bedroom door opened.  Poe looked disoriented, but he took in the dog and the wrapper in Hux’s hand and understanding and alarm quickly dawned.  He started heading for their hall bathroom. Hux shook his head. “Uh-uh. No way. Back in bed with you. I’ve got this.”  He took hold of an arm and steered Poe back to the bedroom door. “I’ve got this.” He had this, didn’t he? “Err... What do I do?”

 

Poe rubbed at his temple.  “I’d argue, but _mi shisha_ , ouch!  My head feels like somebody stuck an ice pick in it.”  He sighed. “Okay. There’s peroxide in the bathroom under the sink.  You have to make him drink it.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the kitchen.  “There’s a funnel in the kitchen junk drawer, that’ll probably be easiest.” He squinted at Hux.  “He’s gonna throw up. A lot. It’s not gonna be fun.” Poe’s face settled into a worried frown. “But you have to make him drink a bunch of it.  No joke, _querido_.  This could kill him.”  The frown was turned on BB-8.  “ _Perro lelo._  If his heart’s racing after he’s puked up everything he can, you take him to the vet. Okay?  You got it?”

 

Hux opened the bedroom door and shooed him inside.  “I’ve got it. It’s my fault anyway.” He took one of Poe’s hands.  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I was…”

 

Poe nodded.  “I know what you were like, I saw you, and _lo siento_ , I’m sorry about that.  It’s okay. Just...take care of him, all right?”  He loved that dog, Hux knew.

 

“Shove peroxide down his throat, watch him vomit everything back up, clean up after him, check his heart’s not racing. I’ll call into work for tomorrow.  Got it.” Poe looked skeptical. “I’ve _got_ it. Go.”  He closed the door.

 

He did have it.  Mostly. Peroxide, check.  Funnel, check. Unhappy, uncooperative dog, check.   The rest was a blur. Hux was shocked at the volume of material that could be produced by the digestive system of one not-very-large dog.  Repeatedly. Eventually he moved them both to the tub and turned on the shower, not bothering to take off his clothes. That was cleaner. The amount and variety of substances rinsed off of both of them and down the drain did not bear close examination.  Hux wasn’t an idiot. He knew he was a fussy person. But surely the horrors he’d just encountered were enough to drive any normal human being to drink, madness, or both.

 

It felt like hours, and might actually have been, before it was evident that BB-8’s stomach (and possibly the rest of him) was empty.  They were both limp with exhaustion and panting by that point. And cold. The hot water had long since reached its limit and he and the Aussie were both shivering.  Right. Hux diverted to the linen closet for a couple of towels, stripped, and dried himself and the dog. He wrapped BB-8 up in the towel and carried him out to the living room.  He wasn’t going to put him in the bed, but he shouldn’t be left alone.

 

Hux eyed the rug.  In for a penny, in for a pound.  He set BB-8 down on the rug away from the existing stain.  A short trip to the bedroom netted him some underwear and a pair of pajama pants.  Poe didn’t even stir. He searched under the kitchen sink until he found the pet stain remover and made immediate use of it, accompanied by copious amounts of elbow grease.  The Aussie was still shivering. A final detour to the couch yielded a fuzzy, knitted blanket, which he threw over them both as he sat down on the rug next to the dog.

 

They stayed like that for the rest of the night.  Hux had to watch the dog, he knew, so he made the first of a potentially endless series of strong cups of tea.  He filled BB-8’s water bowl and set it beside him on the rug. God, he was tired. He tried sitting up, pacing, waving his arms back and forth (which produced an alarmed look and a whine from the Aussie, so he stopped), and petting Millicent, who had finished sleeping off her own adventure and wandered through to stare disdainfully at the bizarre display.  Periodically he laid a hand on BB-8’s ribs while he Googled the average heart rate for an Australian Shepherd Dog, but it stayed steady and right on track. Before he realized, morning light was spilled through the front window into distorted squares on the floor by their feet.

 

BB-8 looked confused, unhappy, and still a little guilty, nose between his paws. Oh, hell.  Hux stroked his head and scratched behind his ears. “It’s all right. It wasn’t your fault.  You’re not so bad. I mean, you _are_ a greedy beggar, no question.  But I shouldn’t have left the chocolate out like that.  I was just so worried about him. Some days he’s almost as much of an idiot as you are.  And,” the Aussie gazed up at him, mismatched eyes attentive as Hux continued, voice thick with unshed tears, “I couldn’t stand it, I don’t think.  If something really did happen to him. Because I love him. You know? Of course you do.” Millicent was beginning to yowl for her breakfast. Hux yawned.  He’d get up and take care of that in a minute.

 

…

 

Poe smiled from the doorway where he’d been leaning while he listened.  His head felt loads better after a night’s rest. He contemplated the picture in front of him with a surge of affection.  Hux had fallen asleep at the end of that sentence. His hair was wildly tousled, which he’d hate, half of it falling over BB-8’s muzzle  The strands were precisely the same color as the Aussie’s left ear.

 

BB-8 gave a soft whine as he spotted Poe, pressed his nose against Hux’s neck and closed his eyes.  This elicited a faint smile from the sleeping Hux. Millicent twined herself around Poe’s ankles; no doubt she was hungry, she’d had a weird day too.  “Listen, I’ll make you a deal. You can have the jacket, okay? I’ll cut the zipper off and drop the rest on that scratchy-thing he got you. I can get another.  And you, stop hurting yourself and freaking out Hux. Deal?”

 

He crouched down to pet the big ginger cat.  Everybody in this house had orange hair but him.  “I love him too. But you knew that.” He looked at the kitchen garbage bin, dragged into the living room and overflowing with paper towels, up at the cleaning supplies and teacup on the counter, then back at the pair snoozing on the living room rug. Poe couldn’t help but laugh, though he kept it quiet.  “This might actually have been his personal hell, if somebody had designed one for him, right? Geez. Okay, maybe we add obedience training to agility, huh, _gato_?”  A meow.  It might be approval, who knew?

  
Poe bent down, which wasn’t nearly as dizzying or painful as he’d expected, and scooped up the now-purring Millicent.  She didn’t protest, which surprised the hell out of him as he scratched under her chin. “We need breakfast. I need coffee.”  He set her back down on the floor. “Coming?” If the smell of breakfast cooking didn’t get their attention, it might be best just to let them sleep.  The cat sauntered agreeably after him as he stopped to draw the rumpled blanket back over man and dog. He tucked a pillow under Hux’s head and laid a kiss on his stubbly cheek, smiling at his luck. Poe whispered in Hux’s ear.  “I love you, _querido_.” That got him a smile, too, and the sleeping ghost of a sigh.  It was good to remember, once in a while, how lucky he really was.

**Author's Note:**

> All research into any relevant topics is mine, as are any mistakes. Poe uses a lot of Guatemalan spanish slang. Querido = beloved Hilachas = shredded meat in tomato sauce, usually served over rice with corn tortillas (sounds delicious, I want to try it!) Rellenitos = plantains stuffed with refried bean paste (which, when mixed with sugar, evidently tastes like chocolate) Puchica! = all-purpose exclamation of surprise and/or irritation, variant of a dirty word clavo = literally, nail, but here means a trouble or a problem Mi corazon = my heart cerote = used casually between friends for something like "dude"? but literally means a small piece of excrement Un cachito mas = a little while more (I can't get the accent mark in there, sorry) Buena onda = cool, or good then Mi shisha = my head Perro lelo = stupid dog Lo siento = I'm sorry Gato = cat The information on what to do when your dog gets into your chocolate came directly from @flypaper_brain, poor thing.


End file.
